


Under Glass

by Airmid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack, F/M, Gen, God's A+ Parenting, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8365573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airmid/pseuds/Airmid
Summary: Dean Winchester has always been in a delicate relationship with reality. Lately though he's wondering if he pissed it off more than usual.In other news, he now has an intense dislike/borderline fear of strawberry jam.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is no set time period for this and is purely a crack fiction work.

“Hey Sam, you ever get the feeling like we’re losing control more and more?”

“What’s that?” Sam’s forehead got that cute little line tucked right over his nose when he was confused and couldn’t quite grasp what was going on, Lucifer still lounging like a languid well fed cat across his chest. “You mean like with the whole fate/destiny/thingy?”

“Destiny is not a thingy, Samuel,” came Michael’s rather indifferent reply from where he was perched on the coffee table staring at his own little brother.

“That’s not what I meant anyways.” Dean’s trying to figure out if he should be shooting something right now. It seemed like he should be, that Sam and his evil blanket should not be this comfortable.

“Then use your words, Dean,” the archangel on the table complained, a slight sneer spreading as he glanced over his shoulder. There was something dark in that look, base and primordial and he cleared his throat to keep on track and not on what that just sparked.

“I mean that it feels like we’re in this weird loop, like everything is repeating but different and why the hell is the King of the Flying Douche Brigade on Bobby’s coffee table?” He’d deny it later, he really would that his voice went up several octaves at that last part. Michael’s eyebrow raised in a finely tuned arch. “Like I’m pretty sure we should hate each other.”

“Why would we hate each other?” the archangel’s condescension was infuriating in ways he couldn’t even begin to name.

“You started the Apocalypse for one,” he shot back as his brother let out a long sigh that could have fueled Columbus’ entire trip. Michael immediately sat up and pointed one of his slender fingers square at his chest.

“I did no such thing,” he growled. “I did not make deals, I did not go to hell, I did not sell my soul –“

“You don’t have a soul,” Lucifer pointed out just to flip on the rant mode switch as Michael twitched fractionally.

“Not the point little brother,” the archangel clicked his fingers and Lucifer’s mouth was suddenly sealed. Satan laid his head back down resigned. “The point is that I am tired of being blamed for the mess of the world when I did nothing to cause it.”

“Didn’t stop it either.”

“Do you want free will or destiny, Dean? Make up your mind,” Michael ground out sliding himself off the table and straight into his personal space.

“Christ, would you two just fuck already?” Sam was shaking his head at them before going back to his book, one large paw petting Lucifer who was purring.

The older archangel was just inches away, heat almost blistering on each exhale against his face and there was still that terrible itch that something was wrong.

“Are you sure Sammy that –“

“Man, I don’t care if aliens are landing if it made you two shut it for a while.”

Dean sighed.

* * *

 

“Sammy –“

“Don’t you dare start on your ‘this isn’t right’ speech. I am so over it.”

“But I’m really like close to positive you aren’t supposed to be a woman,” he said staring at his rather impressively tall little sister as she glared back. Her shoulder length hair was splayed and flying all over from the worst hair day as prophesied by Vidal Sassoon and Dean managed to choke down a grin.

He was really, really certain she was supposed to be a he.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t I wasn’t born with a dick, Dean,” her tone showing just how not sorry she was about it. “If you could focus on the emergency at hand –“

“Your octopus hair isn’t an emergency, Sis. Being eaten by one, yes, wearing one, no.”

A hair brush went whizzing dangerously close to his left ear, a slight snap as it punched into the wall by him, leaving a tiny poof of paint flakes in its wake.

So don’t mock the hair right now, got it.

“We can just straighten it, Sam,” he said in his smooth ‘I will solve this as the big brother’ voice and put a hand on her shoulder. She was so tense and he began to dig his fingers into those taunt muscles, a small shiver running through her. “It’s gonna be alright baby girl, I promise.”

“Sorry, I’m just, it’s just everything going on and it feels like drowning sometimes. Like if one more domino fell I’d be shoved under and never get back.”

Dean slid a hand along her hip, enjoying the curve and feel of it under the startchy cotton of her oversized shirt. The way she fit up against him, warm and soft and there.

Something just didn’t seem right.

“Sammy, are you sure –“

“I swear to God Dean if you go off on how I was a man one more time I am going to shove my can of hairspray down your throat and light it up.”

“That – that seems a little excessive,” he muttered trying not to imagine that unpleasantness as he failed miserably, mood souring.

“It’s not,” she hissed back before stalking to the bathroom and slamming the door.

* * *

 

“Dude would you give it a rest, I mean we’re up to our elbows in blood here. Now is not the time.” Sam sent him a classic bitchface while sliding around in the blood on the floor trying to find purchase. He slipped, feet out ass thunking down hard while Dean sniggered. “Don’t,” Sam breathless waving a bloody finger at him like it could somehow wipe away the shit eating grin Dean felt forming on his face. “Don’t you dare.”

He wanted to point out it was all in Sam’s hair, the fact it would dry and stick in all sorts of new and marvelous ways. Just the thought of the defeated forlorn look his brother would have over that later and Dean can’t hold it back anymore. He’s laughing, harder then he’s laughed in years and it bursts out of him with a rough papery sound as if those muscles were rusty and ill-used.

“I fucking hate you,” Sam muttered crawling to the wall to get out of the stream of blood that was currently all over the middle of the floor due to the slight slope. “Just, Christ, can’t you be normal for once?” came the demand as Sam managed to grip the brick wall and haul himself up into a much more stable position.

“We’re sitting in a lake of blood and you want friggin’ normal?” he managed to get out, breathless and still laughing. It was freeing and he would thank whatever the hell this was they just beheaded if it wasn’t so dead.

“Goddamn it,” Sam muttered, hair sticking to his cheeks in the smears of blood there but a smile was starting to curl up on his lips.

He worked his own way over to a wall and got himself up in one pull, boots finding a bit more treed on the floor than Sam’s but not a lot. His brother was smiling more now, a bit less broken than what they had been and Dean felt like maybe it might finally get just a little bit better.

Except something still wasn’t right.

* * *

 

 

"Christ, I did not need to see this!” he yelled as Michael manifested in front of him with an enthusiastic Lucifer vigorously groping him. “I mean – Jesus.”

“I think this makes baby Jesus cry,” Sam said mournfully next to him and eyed Cas like he was going to go full perv on them in the next thirty seconds.

At least his angel had restraint and boundaries and was not into public sex because right now he was pretty sure he could name two archangels that were.

“You called me,” Michael said when Lucifer finally released his mouth from being unspeakably violated. “It sounded urgent.”

“Dean, you got us all traumatized because that feeling you’ve had since breakfast won’t go away?”

Somehow Sam managed to look more disappointed than when he found out the store was out of his flower shampoo.

“I’m actually inclined to agree with your brother, Samuel, and when I’m free I’ll look into it.”

With a snap they were gone and Dean thought he would be spending the rest of eternity trying to gouge that image out of his soul. He was pretty sure there might have been some extra hands in there and tried not to vomit. Of course his bile level rose as Gabriel appeared and stuck a lollipop in his brother’s hair.

No reason, just because.

He’s probably the last one left with some thread of sanity and as Sam’s bitching with Gabriel’s bright mirth started he wondered if he was in hell again.

At least he still had Cas who was standing stoic as ever beside him before a tentative hand was placed on his shoulder. It was like being grounded and he hadn’t felt that way in a long time, steadier in this moment.

Though he could go for some pie.

* * *

 

Meanwhile Elsewhere:

 

“Whatcha doing, baby?” Becky leaned down smelling like oranges and the several flowers she had been arranging in the kitchen. Her eyes were bright and wide and he did love her innocence. She blinked a few times, her eyes reflecting back the screen glare. “Reading fanfiction?”

“Trying to get a few ideas, maybe mixing and matching,” Chuck said shrugging, giving her an easy smile that she returned. “You ever wonder if they could get a happy ending?”

She chewed her lip, seeming to contemplate the answer and he was certain that it involved a fair number of nude Winchesters if her hooded eyes were any indication. “I wish they could,” she said, looking saddened by that truth. “I hate when my Sammy’s in pain. You gonna come to bed soon?”

“Just polishing this up.”

“Mm, don’t keep me waiting too long, muffin,” she wiggled her hips and he finally realized she was in a rather revealing lingerie. Her hair was loose in a frizzy wave down her back as she walked out with one last waggle.

He shut off the screen for the night with a rather devious smile at already hearing Dean’s rather fanciful cursing against he eldest son’s cool tone. Perhaps being coated in strawberry jam and awaiting Pagan sacrifice would give them both some much needed introspection.

He’d check on them in a morning as he snapped leaving only the fan of the overworked laptop whirling in the darkness.


End file.
